


On the Road to Lunjore

by snakeling



Category: Shadow of the Moon - M.M. Kaye
Genre: British Raj, External POW, F/M, India, Victorian India
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-09 00:59:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8869588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakeling/pseuds/snakeling
Summary: On the way to his new job as Major Randall’s aide, a young British officer meets someone.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tielan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/gifts).



> Thanks to my two betas!
> 
> Dear Tielan, I fell in love with this book when I was a teenager, too, so I was especially happy to see your request. I hope you like it :)

Lieutenant Aubrey Featheringham of the 16th Bengal Native Infantry, presently detached to the Lunjore Residency, slipped a handkerchief out of his pocket and moped his brow, giving himself time to think. The dusty road upon which he’d been travelling was dividing into two equally dusty roads, and no sign indicated which he was supposed to take.

Again, he cursed his lack of foresight. Dysentery had kept him in Lucknow after the departure of his travel companions, and now that he was supposed to go alone, he’d forgotten to take a map, confident he could find his way without mishap.

He took out his compass and waited for the needle to stabilise. The left road seemed to go north, while the right was more eastward, but the knowledge didn’t do him any good, as he had no map and hadn’t thought to look at one before leaving. Illness must have addled his brain, there was no other explanation.

He heard a horse behind him and sighed in relief. Here maybe came someone who could help him. He kept a hand on his gun as a precaution while he turned his own horse around. Behind him was a man wearing very simple clothing, a turban covering his head, the long tail of it wrapped around his face until all that was visible were the eyes. As the man came closer, Aubrey could see they were paler than he would have expected on a native.

He dredged his schoolbook knowledge of Hindustani to greet the man who stopped and replied in kind.

“Wouldst thou know the way to Lunjore?”

“I know it. Art thou going to the Residency?”

“I am.”

The man inclined his head. “Follow me, then, for I am bound there too.”

“Oh thank goodness!” Aubrey said in English. He aligned his horse with the man’s so they were riding side by side.

Their pace was more staid than Aubrey would have liked, but he could see the wisdom of not exhausting the horses in the heat and he didn’t protest. They rode in silence at first, but Aubrey, who was a social young man, said, “My name is Aubrey Featheringham.”

The man turned his head to look at him for a long moment. “Thou art Randall Sahib’s new aide.”

The headscarf and the foreign language made it harder to gauge, but Aubrey thought he sounded amused, though he could not for the life of him fathom why.

“I am. Hast thou heard of me, then?”

“I’ve heard Randall Sahib complain about the inexperienced soldier the Army is sending him.”

Aubrey’s lips tightened. The future promised to be a lot of fun if his superior was adversely judging him before he’d even arrived.

“Everyone starts inexperienced,” he finally said. He looked defiantly at the man, and was surprised to see grudging appreciation in his eyes.

“I am Amir Khan.”

“Dost thou know Major Randall well?”

There was a long pause again. “I am of Randall Sahib’s household.”

Aubrey was tempted to ask what kind of man Randall was, but it would not do to gossip with servants, especially native ones. He simply said, “Then we shall see each other a lot, I suppose.”

Khan shrugged fatalistically. “ _Insha’Allah_.”

A few hours later, they stopped briefly at a well to replenish their canteens and water their horses. For the first time Aubrey could see Amir Khan’s face. He had no beard and his face was only slightly set with lines. Aubrey found it hard to guess Indians’ ages, but he thought Khan might be about forty, a man in the prime of life. 

Aubrey took his jacket and shirt off, using a sliver of soap to freshen up. Khan laughed, showing white teeth.

“Thou shouldst wear something light and thin if thou dost not want to get sick from the heat. Thy shirt is enough for travelling. In Randall Sahib’s house, thou canst wear your white mess uniform.”

Aubrey hesitated. It was good advice. His uniform was made of broadcloth, and he was drenched with sweat already even though the sun was not yet at its highest. Taking a sudden decision, he rolled the jacket and vest together and tied them to his baggage while Khan watched with approval.

* * *

The moon was high in the sky when Amir Khan finally decided to stop. Aubrey had realised hours ago that he was not quite recovered from his illness, and he was exhausted after nearly twenty hours in the saddle, but he would be damned before he uttered a complaint.

“I shall take the first watch and wake thee in a few hours so that I can sleep too.” Amir Khan took a long rifle from his baggage. It was English, the newest model, and Aubrey wondered if the man had been or even still was in the Army, despite the lack of uniform.

“Who dost thou fear?”

“Tigers, mostly.”

Aubrey nodded. Who knew what lurked in the jungle? He unrolled his bedding and lay down with a grunt. For a moment, he wondered how prudent it was to trust Amir Khan. There was nothing preventing the man to slash his throat and abandon the body to the animals. Nobody was expecting him in Lunjore and it could be weeks before anyone thought to check where he was. In the end, his exhaustion decided for him. Aubrey couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, and he hoped that Khan’s honest face was not just a mask.

Too short a time later, Khan shook his shoulder. The night was still dark, the moon not full enough for its light to pierce the canopy of the trees. When he saw that Aubrey was awake, he said, “Wake me in two hours. We shall leave early so that we can reach the Residency before the sun is high.”

Aubrey nodded and stood up, trying to stave away the sleep. He took out his own rifle, keeping it close. His muscles had stiffened, and he walked a little around their camp to loosen them. In the night, the jungle around them was both unnaturally still and yet full of muffled noises. Leaves rustling, frogs crying out to each other, birds’ wings flapping. It was unnerving.

Thankfully the two hours passed without incident. When Aubrey woke up Khan, the sunlight was not yet visible, but the temperature had already started to rise. He could see the wisdom of travelling so early, but his weariness made him wish for a comfortable bed and twelve hours of sleep.

The sky was dusty pink when they stopped at a well and shared a light meal. Aubrey cautiously bit into the little ball of dough that was offered to him. A world of new tastes and textures had been opened to him since his arrival in India, but he’d learnt the hard way that some dishes were too spicy for his English palate. That one burnt a little, but in a good way. It was stuffed with a yellowish paste that he licked off his fingers.

“Dost thou want a boiled egg?” Aubrey asked. He had three or four in his bag. He handed one to Khan and peeled one for himself.

Once they were done, Amir Khan simply said, “God willing, we shall arrive before noon.”

They took a quicker pace than the day before. Aubrey was envious of Khan’s turban. The man had wrapped the long tail of it over his face, protecting his mouth from the dust of the road. Aubrey’s mouth tasted as if he’d swallowed dirt, which was not far from the truth.

It was late in the morning when Khan stepped out of the road, making a sign at Aubrey to follow. They dismounted and climbed a large rock, and Khan pointed at a sprawling white building in the distance.

“The Residency. There is a bungalow kept for thee, where thou canst bathe and nap too. Randall Sahib is not present right now, so thou hast time.”

Aubrey frowned. “How dost thou know he is not home?”

Amir Khan turned to look at him. His face was still hidden, but his eyes crinkled as if he was smiling. “There are no secrets in India.”

Which was, Aubrey concluded, no answer at all.

* * *

The sight of his goal had given Aubrey one last boost, and the remaining miles passed quickly. Finally they were on the driveway to the Residency.

“Sitaram!” Khan called.

A young man bounded towards them, smiling. Khan nodded toward Aubrey. “This is the Lieutenant Sahib that was expected.” Turning to face Aubrey, he added, “Sitaram shall show thee to thy house and serve thee. Randall Sahib will be back before dinner, so thou shouldst present thyself a little before then.”

Amir Khan’s manners were very different, a lot more imperious than on the road. Whomever he was in Major Randall’s household, he was no mere servant, that was obvious.

“Shall I see thee at dinner?”

Khan smiled slowly. “Maybe.”

Aubrey extended his hand to shake. “Until we meet again. I thank thee for thy help and companionship on the road.”

Khan looked at Aubrey’s hand, then took it and shook it. “ _As Salaam aleikum_ , Lieutenant Sahib.”

“ _Wa aleikum Salaam_ , Khan Sahib.”

Aubrey watched him leave, riding towards the Residency. After a moment, he turned to Sitaram, exhaustion finally catching up with him.

“Is it far?”

Sitaram replied in accented English. “No, Sahib. Let me take your horse and I shall show you.”

Aubrey dismounted and handed the reins to Sitaram, who called two other young men. One took the horse, the other took Aubrey’s baggage. Aubrey followed Sitaram to a small house. It was clean and cool, and Aubrey sighed in relief.

“Do you want a bath, Sahib?”

“I’m likely to drown in it. Give me something to clean myself and then I’ll sleep. Wake me up early enough that I can bathe before going to dinner at the Residency.”

“Very well, Sahib.”

* * *

Several hours of sleep and a lengthy bath later, Aubrey finally felt human again, enough to face Major Randall and the nest of English civilisation up at the Residency. His uniform had been washed and pressed and he was, as Amir Khan had advised, wearing his white mess jacket, which was a lot more bearable in the heat. As he was nearing the steps to the entrance, he saw a woman approach, her hands extended in greeting.

“Oh, you must be Lieutenant Featheringham. I was told you’d finally arrived. I’m so pleased to meet you. I’m Major Randall’s wife.”

If not for the Western garments she wore, Aubrey would have assumed that Mrs Randall was Indian. Or maybe she was, though he thought he might have heard about it before if that were the case. Her manners were quite unassuming, but Aubrey got the impression that her pleasure was genuine.

“Mrs Randall. How do you do.”

She threaded her arm through his, steering him inside the big house. “Major Randall also came back today. He’s in his office, let me show you the way.”

She walked quickly, and he was not at all sure he would be able to find the way again. Finally she knocked on a door and entered without waiting for an answer.

“Alex, I found your wayward Lieutenant!”

The room was dominated by an enormous desk, but no one was sitting at it. Instead, a man in evening dress and an Indian boy in dusty clothing were squatting side by side, looking at the antics of a puppy who’d found a slipper and was busy killing it and making sure it stayed dead. The boy looked excited as he talked quickly in Hindustani; the man wore a dubious expression.

He looked up at Mrs Randall’s interjection and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, silencing him.

“Ah, Lieutenant. I see you found your way to us at last.” He stood up. “You’ve already met my wife; this is my eldest son, Niaz. Niaz, this is Lieutenant Featheringham, from the 16th Bengal Native Infantry. He’ll be replacing Lieutenant Hawkins.”

The boy looked at him warily. Aubrey extended his hand. “How do you do, Master Randall?” he said seriously.

Niaz’s eyes cleared. “How do you do, sir,” he said, with just as much gravitas. They shook hands. What a strange name the boy wore. Not at all English. Aubrey wondered if his first thought had been the truth and if Mrs Randall was Indian.

“Niaz,” Mrs Randall said, “you’ve been allowed to dinner, but only if you clean up and change. Shoo. And take that dog with you and give him back to its mummy. It’s much too young to be separated from her.”

“Yes, Mama.” The boy scooped the puppy in his arms, getting his face licked for his efforts, and left. Mrs Randall followed him out of the door with a last look at her husband that made Aubrey uncomfortable. No words had been exchanged, but clearly none were needed. The exchange was charged with intimacy and the familiarity of a long marriage. He looked away in time to see his superior smile back at his wife. It was obvious even to a stranger that those two loved each other deeply.

As soon as they were alone, Aubrey said, “I must apologise for my tardiness—”

“Oh, don’t bother,” Major Randall interrupted, sitting at the desk. “I well remember my own encounter with dysentery. I don’t know that I would have been able to do the trip from Lucknow to Lunjore on horseback barely a week after. Do sit.”

There was something familiar about Major Randall’s voice, but Aubrey couldn’t place it. He dragged a chair in front of the desk, and sat down, his back straight as a board.

“Have you been told what your duties were?”

“Yes, sir. I also met with Lieutenant Hawkins at my arrival in Delhi.”

Major Randall breathed deeply. “That’s what I was afraid of. Forget everything he told you. As an administrator, he was incompetent and even downright dangerous. I’d prefer you didn’t emulate him.”

Aubrey blushed, a little angry. Hawkins had criticised Major Randall and called him names Aubrey wouldn’t use in mixed company, but he could read between the lines. Hawkins hadn’t made much of a first impression on Aubrey, and the second and third had been even worse.

“I hadn’t planned to,” he said stiffly.

“I know you hadn’t.” Major Randall looked up.

“I knew your eyes were too pale for a native!” Aubrey exclaimed, the words stumbling out before he was even conscious of his epiphany.

Major Randall smiled appreciatively. “Actually, Amir Khan is supposed to be a Pathan, and pale eyes are not rare among the Pashtun people. Or among the Indians, actually. This is not Africa, you know.”

“Were you trying to trick me?”

“I prefer to hide my identity when I travel alone. Safer this way. And when I met you— well, I was curious to see what mettle you were made of. Your Hindustani is rather good, for something you haven’t practised much yet. A little too schoolbook, but we’ll train that out of you soon enough. You’ll never be able to pass for a native, though.”

Aubrey passed a hand in his ginger hair. “No, I don’t suppose so.”

“Come, let’s go for dinner.”

Aubrey stood up, then hesitated. “Sir, may I ask a really impertinent question? Only I don’t want to commit a blunder.”

“Ask.”

“Is Mrs Randall Indian?”

“Would it change anything if I were to say yes?”

Aubrey didn’t have to think of the answer. “Of course not.”

“Then what does it matter?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it without speaking. After a moment, he said, “It doesn’t, actually. Please excuse my impertinence.”

Major Randall opened the door and ushered Aubrey through it. “Mrs Randall’s father was half-Spanish half-French; her mother was English. She does have an Indian cousin, though, as her aunt married an Indian man from Lucknow. You may meet Ameera at some point. She usually comes here for a few weeks during the hot season, but being a Mussulman, she keeps _purdah_ and stays in her quarters when she’s here. You’ll see her boys, who are around Niaz’s age.”

Aubrey nodded.

When they entered the drawing room, Niaz was here wearing smart European clothes and Aubrey almost wondered how he could have thought the boy was Indian. Niaz was studiously ignoring the girl about his age who was standing next to an older woman talking with Mrs Randall.

“Lou! Winter didn’t tell me you were here.” Major Randall shook hands warmly with the stranger.

“I can’t imagine how you two failed to talk about me when you returned after a week’s absence,” the woman said with a pointed tone and look that brought warmth to Aubrey’s cheeks. Her meaning was obvious. “You remember Amanda.”

“Of course. Miss English.” Major Randall bowed and the girl curtsied prettily, a rosy blush spreading on her face. “Lieutenant, this is Mrs Cottar and her daughter Amanda English. Lou, this is Lieutenant Featheringham, my new aide.”

“How do you do, Lieutenant.”

“Ma’am. Miss English.” Aubrey bowed to both. Miss English blushed even deeper. Mrs Cottar cast a frankly assessing glance at him that made him want to join Miss English in red-faced embarrassment.

Thankfully, a servant appeared to tell them dinner was served. Mrs Randall took his arm, leading him to the dining room, followed by the Major and Mrs Cottar. Niaz extended an arm to Miss English with good grace, even though it was obvious he wanted nothing to do with the girl, to the amusement of the adults present.

* * *

Dinner was lively. Even though he was a stranger in a room full of people who obviously knew each other very well, he was made to feel welcome. Likewise, the children were included in the conversation, one or the other of the adults taking the time to explain things carefully when the children’s understandings were lacking.

“Uncle Alex,” Miss English began hesitantly as they were eating dessert. “Mama said I should ask you as you probably would know. Do you know exactly when I was born?”

How odd. How could they not know the date of her birth? Both the Major and Mrs Randall were frowning.

Mrs Cottar says, “I lost count of the days when you were bitten, Winter, and for the life of me I can’t remember. Late June of course, but beyond that?”

Mrs Randall rubbed her left arm above the elbow, where he’d seen an ugly scar earlier. Aubrey supposed it was the bite they were speaking of.

“I was bitten on the thirteenth of June,” Mrs Randall said, looking at her husband in confirmation, who nodded. “And I remember telling Lottie that Sophie was in Cawnpore, so it must have been before the fifteenth of July.”

“We only learnt of Cawnpore when we were captured, though, so you can’t use that. I went to get the goat the day after, and that’s when I learnt of the defeat at Chinut, so it was past the thirtieth, at least.”

Aubrey listened, wide-eyed. The names, the events behind them, were as familiar to him as to any man, any English soldier, but with the distance of years, they felt as unreal and historical as Waterloo or Culloden. Yet here were people who had lived through them. He looked at Mrs Randall and Mrs Cottar with newfound respect.

“I think it was the first of July, actually, but maybe it was the second. Not later, though. I’m sorry, Amanda, we can’t be more certain.”

“Thank you, Uncle Alex, Aunt Winter. Mama, let’s just say it was the first of July.”

“Very well. I suppose you expect gifts and maybe a little party, next month?”

Amanda smiled widely at her mother. Mrs Randall looked stricken at the sight and Major Randall leaned over and squeezed her hand.

Amanda looked at them in alarm. “What is it? Did I say something?”

Mrs Randall smiled a little wistfully at the child. “No, no, don’t worry. It’s just that you looked so much like your mother for a moment.”

Aubrey didn’t think that Amanda resembled her mother that much. In fact, they were so dissimilar one might assume they were unrelated. Oh. Or maybe they were and that was why they didn’t bear the same last name. Aubrey had assumed Amanda was a daughter from a first marriage of Mrs Cottar, but maybe she was an orphan of the Mutiny that Mrs Cottar had adopted. That would make more sense.

The conversation deviated on lighter topics, the good atmosphere slowly restoring. When the dessert plates had been taken away, Mrs Randall stood up and said, “I think it is time we retire and leave the men to their own devices.”

They all stood and watched the women leave in a froufrou of silk dresses. As Mrs Randall passed close to her husband, their hands caught briefly together and they exchanged a smile.

The door closed behind them. Major Randall poured three glasses of brandy, one significantly smaller than the others, and handed them out.

“Remember,” he told Niaz. “You sip slowly. You take your time appreciating it, and if you feel you’ve had too much, you stop.”

Aubrey didn’t know Niaz’s exact age, but he thought he might be a little young for strong spirits. It wasn’t his place to say something, though, so he didn’t.

Of course, Major Randall noticed. “I prefer that my sons have a little alcohol under strict supervision rather than they go into the bottles on their own.” Niaz looked sheepish at those words, hiding behind his glass. “Or worse, that they learn their drinking manners in school.”

“I’ll have to go to school in England next summer,” Niaz said lugubriously.

“Think of it as a tactical reconnaissance mission among the enemy.”

Major Randall sounded perfectly serious and Aubrey nearly spat off his drink.

“Did you enjoy school, Lieutenant? Though maybe it’s different, because you grew up in England.”

“I did, yes, and it probably helped, I won’t lie to you. The weather alone will be very different. But—” Aubrey paused, trying to put words on his feelings and to be honest without frightening the boy who, he could see, was genuinely apprehensive. “Look, it can’t be a perfectly happy experience. Nothing is. There are times when you will be homesick, there are teachers you will detest, there are students with whom you won’t get along. That’s a fact of life. But it’s up to you not to be miserable all the time. You can find things to love in England, some teachers will open new horizons to you, and you will make life-long friends. Keep an open mind. I had wonderful experiences in school, and you shall too.”

Both Niaz and Major Randall were listening closely and Aubrey fought a blush.

“That was more or less my experience too, and _I_ didn’t grew up in England. So you see, Niaz, there’s nothing to fear.” He squeezed his son’s shoulder.

“I wasn’t _afraid_.”

“Of course you weren’t.” Major Randall looked up at the clock and said, “You’re going hunting tomorrow, aren’t you? You may go to bed now.”

It was phrased as permission, but it was unmistakably an order, and Niaz didn’t mistake it for anything else. “Yes, sir. Good night, Papa. Thank you for the advice, Lieutenant, and good night.”

Aubrey nodded at the boy. Major Randall took out a pouch of tobacco and slips of paper and started rolling cigarettes, offering one to Aubrey. He savoured the first burn from the smoke.

“Do you play whist? Lou likes a good game when she can recruit enough players, and given that there are four of us tonight, she’s sure to propose to play a hand or two. We don’t play for money if you’re worried for your pay.”

“I used to supplement my income with whist when I was in school. I’m not worried about that, sir.” Despite the words, there was nothing he wanted less than spending the night playing cards.

“Really? We’ll be sure not to partner you with Lou, then, or you’ll wipe the floor with us. Neither Winter not I care much for the game. Come.” Major Randall stubbed his cigarette and stood up. “Let’s join the ladies.”

Aubrey followed him to a room that felt markedly more feminine, but in a different way than he was used to in England. The furniture was European in shape and Indian in colour and pattern. The result was warmly inviting. Amanda was nowhere to be seen, and Mrs Randall and Mrs Cottar were laughing. Mrs Randall looked at the Major, inviting him to share her glee, and indeed he smiled fondly at her.

“I’m not sure I want to know what you two find so amusing.”

“You’re such a wise man, Alex,” Mrs Cottar said.

“I learn from experience.” He sat next to his wife. They were only touching where her skirts had spilt over his legs, and yet Aubrey could almost feel the bond that joined them. It was extraordinary. “Do you want to play whist? Lieutenant Featheringham has agreed to be our fourth.”

Mrs Randall rolled her eyes. “Oh, Alex. I’m sure the Lieutenant was polite enough not to refuse, but he looks ready to fall asleep.”

All three of then turned to look at him critically just as Aubrey was trying to swallow a yawn.

“Winter, you should take this man of yours outside for a moonlight stroll, and meanwhile I’ll sneak Lieutenant Featheringham out.”

Aubrey protested, “I could—”

“Nonsense,” Major Randall said firmly. “I apologise, I should not even have mentioned it. Rest. You can take tomorrow off, too. I remember my own bout with dysentery. I took weeks to recover.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The Major rose, offering his arm to his wife. “Ma’am? The night is so pleasant, would you take a turn with me?”

Mrs Randall smiled brightly at him. “Why, sir, I thought you would never ask!”

Mrs Cottar and Aubrey watched them go out on the terrace. Aubrey could see the outline of Major Randall behind the gauzy curtains. He put his hand on his wife’s waist, reeling her in until she was pressed against his shoulder and Aubrey couldn’t tell where one began and the other ended.

“You should go to bed.”

Aubrey looked up to see Lou watching him. “Yes, you’re right. Good night, Mrs Cottar. Thank you for the excellent evening.”

“Oh, it’s all Winter really. Good night, Lieutenant. We’ll probably see each other tomorrow or the day after.”

Aubrey bowed on her hand and left, hoping he would be able to find his way back in the dark. As he passed the entrance of the Residency, Sitaram stood up and said, “Going home, Sahib?”

“Dear God, were you waiting for me?”

“It is my duty,” he said, all offended dignity. Then he smiled widely, uncovering white teeth that gleamed in the moonlight. “And the girl I want to marry works here.”

Aubrey chuckled. “Congratulations. Lead the way; I’m too tired to remember where the house lies.”

He followed Sitaram on the darkened path, feeling optimistic about his future in the Lunjore Residency.


End file.
